


Misgivings

by Ladyfae (Ladysaille)



Series: Shadows Beckoning [4]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25562887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladysaille/pseuds/Ladyfae
Summary: Angel is injured, Willow tries to help, and in the process the two share a unique bonding expereince.
Relationships: Angel/Willow Rosenberg
Series: Shadows Beckoning [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845043
Kudos: 8





	Misgivings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters herein. They belong to BVTS, and its creators Joss and WB. Don’t hurt me for borrowing them. They needed to come out and play...

I wasn’t as a rule clueless, but it took a while to see what was happening. My relationship with Angel was one I cherished and relied on. Buffy broke up with Angel, I befriended him, simple straight forward even. I hadn’t expected to be informed that if I wanted to remain her friend, I would not see Angel again. At first, I thought she was kidding, Angel was my friend, he still helped her with the demon of the week. What was so terrible about our being friends? 

What was odd, or perhaps not so odd, was no one waited to find out what I had chosen. The assumption was Buffy had spoken, and Willow would listen. It was perhaps a bit of shock when they arrived at my house and found it empty, and when going to Angel’s to collect me, it too was empty. Not just empty deserted, all of Angel’s belongings were gone. 

They missed moving day, Angel bought a new place and asked for my help. I was positively giddy when he told me that I could pick out a laptop so he and I could talk when things got tight, and I couldn’t see him for whatever reason. At least I was until I realized why. He was giving me an out, assuming I would choose them over him.

Only he seemed not to realize that I wanted to see him as much. Talking to him online might be okay for when I didn’t see him, but never seeing him, the thought left a rather unpleasant tightness in my heart. I had grown extremely attached to the vampire in the time since that first slightly awkward night. Not that we still didn’t have embarrassing moments.

I glanced behind me as I walked toward Angel’s new home. The old Victorian took up a corner lot in a row of elegant old houses dating back to Sunnydale’s heyday. Which meant there were tunnels in the basement that connected to the sewer system, which would allow Angel to move about during the day. I kept expecting to see Buffy or Xander trailing me since I’d left campus after lunch, but the path behind me remained slayer and scooby free.

I wondered exactly what Angel had planned for tonight. Since the night of the play, he’d taken to planning outings, sometimes though we stayed in, and didn’t that just sound sordid. We stayed in, and I admit to a certain reluctance to leave anymore. Not that I actually left, Angel insisted on walking me home. Maybe I should be worried, I mean my time is divided between friends that don’t know I hang out with Angel ,school and Angel. That can’t be good for a girl. I should get a hobby, something anything.

Over the last few days, I’d been feeling well, strange. I couldn’t really explain it, but well watched, and not the kind of watched that I knew was a certain overprotective vampire. Of course, the only way to tell Angel that something was wrong, would be to admit that I knew he kept an eye on me even on evenings we didn’t spend together.

I stared at the front door of Angel’s home in concern. It was slightly ajar, which given the still bright shiny thing in the sky, wasn’t a good thing. I moved closer, worried.

“Angel,” I called as I pushed open the front door fully. Not all evil things wait for dark, I reminded myself. I glanced frantically around the front hallway and into the rooms on either side. Nothing, I took the stairs quickly, fear making me careless. I caught sight of shoe clad feet on the floor next to Angel’s huge bed. I darted across toward him. A gasp lodged in my throat.

I dropped to the floor beside him, trembling. “Angel?” I leaned over him, trying to figure out what had happened. His shirt was soaked with blood. An empty blood bag lay on the floor near his hand. Jesus, why hadn’t he asked for help? Even as the question crossed my mind, I knew the answer. Vampire, the stubborn ass would rather potentially die than remind me of what he was. As if I’d forgotten or wanted to forget.

I pulled open his shirt, a huge gash ran from just below his heart across his abdomen and ended at the opposite hip. Claw marks, I wondered, there were smaller, less deep wounds on either side of the massive injury. It had stopped bleeding, but it wasn’t healing. He needed more blood. I got to my feet and went downstairs to retrieve more from the fridge. There was only one other bag in the refrigerator, and I realized last night must have been when he would normally pick up more. Did that mean he’s been like this for two days? The thought terrified me.

Angel was still where I left him, pale as death, gray almost. I shivered, how was I going to get him to drink. There wasn’t enough to risk wasting it. I punctured the back with my knife, the little red multi-tool had come in handy more than I would have imagined. Carefully, I brought the bag closer to Angel’s face, wondering if he would rouse for the scent of blood. Nothing, his eyes remained closed, his body still. I blew out a breath and grimaced, sweeping my fingers through the blood, and carefully brushed the blood-drenched digits over Angel’s lips.

Nothing frustrated, I stared at the bag, and then at Angel’s still face. How would I get him to drink? There was nothing for it, he’d be angry, but at least he’d be alive. I was at my wit’s end. How else would I get him to drink? I drew the sharp blade lightly over the skin of my wrist. The sharp pain burned as my skin split. Not deep, but enough for blood to well up from the wound, it made small pools, where the blade had cut slightly deeper, maybe if the blood was warm. I held my breath and pushed my bleeding wrist against his mouth. I closed my eyes and wiggled my wrist feeling his lips part around my flesh. The blood began to slide into his mouth.

A gasp tore from my throat when his hands suddenly grabbed my arm and pressed my wrist tighter to his mouth. His lips moved, his teeth parted, and I cried out as fangs pierced my skin. He held my wrist, suckling, making these tiny growling noises with each draw. It hurt, like fire, his fangs stung like a bitch.

His eyes fluttered open and fixed on me. His gaze stayed locked on my face, his lips continued to draw from my wrist, and the exact moment he realized what he was doing, his expression froze, the movement of his lips against my skin stopped. He lifted his mouth away, and immediately blood began to pool and rolled down my wrist. Angel caught the wayward lines of crimson with long sweeps of his tongue, hungry little noises slipping from his throat. He trailed his tongue over the bite marks, and small cuts I created. My breathing was ragged by the time he released my wrist, and not a single injury remained to reveal my foolishness or his bite.

He scrambled away from me, as he moved, I saw that the wound on his chest had already begun to shrink. When I reached toward him, my heart seized when he shuffled further away. Don’t hate me; I silently pleaded. Was he angry I’d tried to help him? Or was he worried he’d hurt me? He kept staring at me, his expression unreadable, his demonic visage didn’t frighten me, but his silence bothered me. I pushed the blood bag toward him. His dark eyes widened, and his gaze shot to my face. His gaze never left mine, and he brought the bag to his mouth and proceeded to drain in moments. After what seemed like hours, his true face slipped back into place, easing fears I wasn’t even aware I had. His expression, though, wasn’t one I recalled seeing, and worry blossomed in my gut. That now, he would send me away. Unwanted. 

When the silence felt as if it would go on forever, I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. “What happened?” I demanded, I cradled my wrist in my lap, staring at the unmarred flesh in confusion.

He didn’t answer me for the longest time, and I wondered if this would be the end, how he pushed me away, and I lost him. There were so many questions, so many things I wanted, needed to know. How he’d been injured, why hadn’t he called for help?

“I got on the wrong end of a sharp object,” he said, his tone wary.

“I noticed, but how, better yet, why?” My worry was returning, but Angel made no move to come any closer. The realization that in helping him, I might have ruined the intimacy of our relationship, the connection I had begun to take for granted hurt.

He sighed, but still wouldn’t look at me. “I was ambushed,” he said finally.

“Because you help buffy?” I asked. My voice shaking.

“Because I kill my own kind,” he said, his tone blunt

“They aren’t your kind,” I shot back, moving closer to him. His hand shot out, and he grabbed the wrist he’d bitten.

“I suppose that was a carebear with fangs at your wrist a few moments ago.” His voice shook with emotion, fear, and regret, and other things I couldn’t name.

I swallowed back the denial. Clearly, he had been nursing from my wrist. I swept my other hand over my eyes, hating the fact that tears were threatening.

“Willow,” he whispered, and my name had never sounded so pained. His arms were around me before I’d even registered his movement, his face buried in my hair.

I gasped, scrambling to put distance between our bodies, he was still hurt, but Angel’s arms just tightened around me. “Please,” he gasped, “Don’t hate me.” His words echoed my earlier thoughts, and everything fell into place. I was so foolish. Tears threatened anew, but for a different reason. We were such a pair. Each so afraid of being unwanted, of losing. I wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I dared, not caring that his mouth was now close to my throat, the soft exhalations of air he didn’t need washing over the skin there.

“I couldn’t hate you,” I responded, hating my own cowardice. “I was so scared,” I said, my voice shaking. “You wouldn’t move or wake up, and you wouldn’t drink even when I tried to give you the blood from the bag. I’m so sorry, Angel, I didn’t know what else to do.” My tears finally fell, hot against my cheeks.

How long we sat on the floor, I didn’t know. Angel’s big body curled around mine, once my tears were spent, I was suddenly aware of exactly where I was. Angel’s lap, my legs pressed to the outside of his. This close, I could smell the unique scent that was all Angel, and it mixed oddly in the air with the metallic tang of blood. He drew back finally, lips brushing against my throat as he drew away. A shiver ran down my spine as I blinked up into his concerned eyes. His gaze softened. The harsh line of his lips gentled. He leaned forward a pressed a tender kiss to my forehead.

I wiped at my eyes and sighed. “Come on, we should get you into bed, and see if you need any more tending to.” I didn’t dare mention blood, but I wondered if he needed more of that too.

He nodded, and with seeming reluctance, allowed me to move away from him. A wave of warmth swept through me at the idea he craved the closeness as much as I did. I got to my feet and took stock of how he moved, even injured he had an effortless grace I envied.

His shirt fell open as he moved, and the wound did look better, much better than it had only a short time ago. I was somewhat surprised, in fact, I’d seen him heal before, from some nasty wounds, but they didn’t usually heal that fast.

“Angel?” The question hovered on my tongue unasked. What was going to say? I notice you are healing awfully well, considering how I found you.

He followed my gaze to the wound on his chest. It was still pretty nasty looking, but it was much smaller than it had been, the edges turning a pale pink. He drew in a slow breath and stepped toward me. He took up my hands in his own.

“Your blood. It’s powerful.” He sat on the edge of the bed, and I settled beside him, still holding one of his hands.

“Cause it was, you know, from the source?” I asked, heat rising in my cheeks.

He caught my chin and lifted until our gazes met. “Because it was yours, sweet,” he whispered, his brown eyes dark and filled with warmth. I pressed my mouth to his cheek.

“I’m glad it helped,” I said.

“Thank you.” He drew in a slow breath and then raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m going to need your help, getting into something a bit more comfortable.” The tone was teasing this time as if he knew how unsettled I was.

“Sweatpants,” I asked, unsure of exactly what appreciate sleeping attire would be for healing from an unlife threatening wound.

“Whatever you find that will be easy to put on,” he said, and I nodded, and disappeared down the hallway, where all the boxes had been put that Angel hadn’t unpacked yet. There were a few boxes of shirts, pants, and various other things, and I found a pair of sweatpants, and boxers, fighting down the heat in my cheeks, this was no time to act like a child.

When I returned to the room, Angel was standing in the adjoining bathroom, washing the dried blood and muck from his skin. I was suddenly very glad it was a Friday night because Angel wouldn’t be in any shape to walk me home, and if I were honest, I didn’t want to leave him alone. Finding him earlier had left me cold.


End file.
